The Assignment
by neko no warai
Summary: Allen, no matter how hard he tried, simply couldn't bring himself to write that stupid, pointless assignment. And then Kanda just had to go and call him beansprout. /AU. Very mildly implied Yullen. Like, you'd need a telescope and three maps to find it./


Summary: Allen, no matter how hard he tried, simply couldn't bring himself to write that stupid, pointless assignment. And then Kanda just _had_ to go and call him beansprout. :::Very mildly implied Yullen. Like, you'd need a telescope and three maps to find it.:::

Words: 973 (pretty much a drabble)

Notes: ...I finally come back to post something on and it's this? I wrote this ages ago, but I was always wary of rereading it and finding out how bad it was. Luckily, I was pleasantly surprised, because it's kind of cute. So I offer it to you readers hungering for a taste of fluff.

**The Assignment**

He stared at the blank page on his desk as if desperately waiting for the words to write themselves. His pen lay useless in his hand, the ink on the tip long since dry. His mind sputtered like a dying car. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, eyes squinting at the effort of trying to get the gears in his head to move.

A minute passed.

He gripped the pen tighter, glaring even harder at the still-blank page.

Another minute slipped out the window.

And another.

And—

"That's it! I give up!" The boy threw down his pen with a vengeance, watching it roll off the desk and clatter harmlessly to the ground. His breaths came in short, angry puffs.

The page was still blank.

"Argh!"

"Shut the hell up, beansprout! Just because your malfunctioning brain wants to stay up all night doesn't mean I do!"

The boy growled fiercely, a rarely seen anger burning in his eyes. "For the 8 millionth time, BaKanda; my. name. is. Allen!" There was no reply, which only served to add fuel to the overworked-student's rampaging fire.

He slammed his hands down on the desk and pushed himself up, storming straight to his dorm-mate's room. He threw open the door, glaring heatedly inside at the figure sitting cross-legged on his bed.

"What do want, beansprout?" The voice was so indifferent that the boy wanted to strangle the owner right then and there. He might've done it, too, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't actually have a reason to be there. Even angrier, he slammed the door shut behind him and stalked up to his prey.

"What do I want?" His voice was quiet and dangerous. "I want you to keep your trap shut unless you intend to apologise to me using. my. name!"

"I always use your name, idiot beansprout."

"Argh!"

And suddenly, the normally calm and polite white-haired boy was on top of his not-quite-unsuspecting room-mate, hands clawing desperately at the other in a terrible attempt at revenge. When larger, stronger hands held him back, he started using his feet. So much like a wild animal was he that his room-mate had to push him backwards and straddle him like a helpless child.

"Calm the fuck down, brat. I want to sleep."

"I don't care! You're the one who started this!"

The other snorted. "I believe it was _you_ who stormed into _my_ room."

"Because you provoked me!"

But for all of his spiteful words and petty struggles, the boy knew he was trapped. His anger had dwindled to a dull ember in his helplessness, and he suddenly couldn't care to even hold up the pretence of caring. Finally, his body slumped into the bed.

He ignored the amused face his captor gave him. "Giving up so easily?"

"It's against my morals to fight a girl," he muttered half-heartedly, making the other twitch angrily.

"I don't know what your problem is, but—" He was interrupted by the boy's low whine.

"Kanda~! It won't write itself!"

"..."

"..."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The boy pouted—he would have crossed his arms to heighten the effect if they weren't currently pinned down—and looked up into annoyed midnight blue eyes. "The assignment! The teacher said that if we stopped thinking about everything around us and just listened to our heart, the words would spring forth onto the paper! But it isn't working! The words aren't springing forth! They're flopping around like beached whales! And whales don't even flop!"

His room-mate stared. Not a single word of the younger boy's rapid speech had gotten through to him. It was all an annoying, jumbled mess of whining and pleading—two things he hated more than the boy himself.

Thus it was perfectly fair of him to once more ask; "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kanda~!"

"Listen, brat, if you only came in here to whine, I don't want to hear it!"

"You never want to hear anything," the boy pointed out evenly.

"Exactly, now scram."

"But you have to help me!"

The room-mate sighed in exasperation. "For heaven's sake! Just write about your stupid flipping whales!"

"They're flopping whales. Or.. well, un-flopping whales, really..."

"Moron!" And with that word spat out, the larger boy shoved the smaller off his bed and crawled under the blanket, refusing to deal with even one more moment of stupidity.

The boy chuckled into his hand. "You look like a cowering mouse." And then, as suddenly as his room-mate sprang up furiously with every intent to kill him, an idea popped into the boy's head. "I've got it! I'll write about the terrible woe-begotten life of an antisocial jerk of a samurai, reduced to cowering beneath blankets like a terrified child! It will be epic! The teacher will _have_ to give me an A! Thanks Kanda!"

The boy merrily skipped out of his future murderer's room, unaware of the sword that had missed his head by mere centimetres.

He cheerfully sat back at his desk and blocked everything out but the _voice of his heart_ (or whatever his teacher had called it). His pen finally began scribbling out messy lines of what would become his epic, B+ masterpiece.

Really, he should have known to talk to Kanda in the first place—after all, everything in his heart revolved around the one he liked best.


End file.
